


Star-Crossed

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: Summary: After the war with Grima, Robin gets back to what he is best. Which is waking up in an empty field with no idea how he got there.Or; Following Robin’s disappearance for several months, Lon’qu finally gets the opportunity to know him without the immediate threat of death looming above them. And, to his surprise, it’s not actually that bad.





	Star-Crossed

Regna Ferox is almost famously known for its oppressively cold climate, bringing out the harshest of weather and the hardiest of warriors. Even as the days are hurtling rapidly towards springtime, the Feroxi people pay little mind to the dusting of frost graying the grass or creeping across their window panes. The people of the nation feel they always have more pressing matters than to stand around shivering and complaining of the cold, and besides fur is always in fashion.

Lon’qu greatly prefers the weather to be like this, in fact. Makes training easier, not needing to worry as much about overheating when sparring or camping out in the shade. The soldiers of Ylisse appeared to never be without at least a thin sheen of sweat, standing around all day in full armor in the middle of the summer. It was hardly a wonder that the Shepherds considered Lon’qu to be cranky in the foreign heat. Plegia was far, far worse, though. So dry and arid that Lon’qu felt he had a hard time breathing. And he’d never be able to survive the humiliation if he fainted right in the middle of the desert. The killing of witnesses would only be the easy part.

Ylisse wasn’t entirely bad, though. And the war, though terrible for thousands of people, wasn’t entirely bad if you were the right kind of person- which was, to say, a soldier who managed to survive. The collection of dismembered training dummies scattered around the frozen ground like litter had to be some kind of testament to Lon’qu’s improved combat ability. He finds it to be effective if he takes his usual position, then tries to remember what he learned from watching Sully’s technique for cleaving Risen in two.

(And yes- if his time with the Shepherds gave him more experience being around women without wanting to fall right through the ground, then that was yet another improvement on Lon’qu’s already impressive collection of skills.)

In the midst of an imaginary battle, Lon’qu is already halfway through a pivot and side-strike when his eye catches a flash of gold. And suddenly instead of facing the empty corner of the training arena, his blade is now hovering very rudely an inch in front of the massive chest of Khan Basilio.

“Not bad,” The West Khan booms with a white grin, and it does have to be a wonder to any ordinary (re: not Lon’qu) person how such a large man can sneak up on anyone at all, much less a seasoned fighter. “You’re faster than you used to be, Lon’qu. Maybe I should loan you out to Chrom’s little club more often!”

Lon’qu, however, knows better. And he knows that even if he hadn’t stopped himself in the middle of his maneuver, there is an exactly zero percent chance his sword could have even grazed Basilio’s body. He had a better chance of being picked up by the skull and thrown into the wall than landing a hit on the Western leader

“Sir.” A stiff-spined bow is, of course, delivered respectfully, Lon’qu stapling his sword hand to his side and trying not to freeze up at the discomfort of being snuck up on. He can’t decide if the fact that it’s by his Khan and idol makes it worse or better.

Lon’qu has never been one for reading emotions or anything, but he’s always found it easier to understand Basilio’s moods. He’s not a man who is much in the business of hiding his intentions, usually being far too honest with his opinions for the comfort of others, delivering harsh critique with a one-eyed burning glare or a cutting jab.

Right now, Basilio looks almost nervous. He doesn’t show it well, but there’s something odd in how he observes Lon’qu from head to toe. A different furrow of the eyebrow. “I have something for you.”

There’s a brief sound of parchment crunching in the grasp of a powerful palm. Forgetting to be a respectful killing machine momentarily, Lon’qu’s eyes flick down to the corner of an envelope in Basilio’s hand.

“... Sir?”

“Get cleaned up, first of all.” Basilio orders, his expression revealing nothing. “Once you look at this, we’re gonna need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

“You must be excited, huh? Seeing him again after so long.”

Olivia hovers outside the door to Lon’qu’s quarters, the little bells and metal pieces of jewelry on her outfit making a constant chiming noise like raindrops pelting rooftops with her fluttering movements. She keeps shifting her weight on the balls of her feet, hiding a smile in her hands. “I’m really happy for you.”

And as anxious as it makes Lon’qu to have a woman so close to his personal abode, having Olivia around isn’t so bad. They bonded while in the Shepherds, and for a long time she was the only connection he had to Regna Ferox.

Besides, if they ever ran out of things to talk about- what with him being paralyzed around women and her being impossibly shy around men and all- she could just tell him stories about Basilio to keep Lon’qu calmed down. It was a fine friendship.

He tries not to mind her, and does a very bad job of it, as he packs his belongings into a travel bag. There isn’t much to put away. “Thank you for saying so.”

“Is that all you’re bringing?” She points at his bag while keeping her elbows tucked near her body. She leans into his doorway on her toes like there’s an invisible wall keeping her from crossing the threshold. Basilio always talks about how cute her politeness is. “Lon’qu, that doesn’t look like very much at all.”

“I don’t need much. I don’t see why that would be odd to you.” He explains as he weighs two swords to decide which one he should bring. Better go with both. “A trip between Regna Ferox and Ylisse isn’t that long.”

“Sure, compared to Chon’sin or Plegia.” Olivia points out, smiling and fiddling with one of her long braids. There’s a scar on her forearm that Lon’qu notices, and suspects wasn’t there before the war. It’s easy to forget that she had seen almost as much battle during that time as he had. “The world seems so much smaller to me after all that traveling around.”

True to his expectations of himself, Lon’qu doesn’t know where to take the rest of this conversation. He’s fine to continue packing and ignoring Olivia for as long as she wants to dawdle in his doorway. What an odd person, asking about his packing as if he was meant to bring something special.

He puts down his belongings so he can face Olivia fully. It’s hard to imagine her with a single bad intention in her body, but Lon’qu has been wrong before, and regarding people with suspicion is one of his many talents. “When did you find out about that, anyways? About Robin and me.”

Perfectly on cue, Olivia’s face turns red as a tomato. “O-oh?”

“You said ‘I’m really happy for you.’ I didn’t think anyone else suspected we were close.”

“Well, I don’t know about that! With how much time together, it’s obvious you were friends.” She’s yanking on her braids now, and it’s almost comical to see Olivia’s pretty face contort with embarrassment and guilt. She’s already one step away from hopping from foot to foot, the way she does when she’s at her peak of nervousness. “B-but Robin is my friend, too, you know? So I guess he didn’t see a problem in telling me how you two were… well, he thinks you’re really special.”

Lon’qu has to squeeze his eyes shut and repress a sigh. Robin always seemed to become a different person depending on who he was talking to, Lon’qu can perfectly imagine the tactician gossiping with Olivia over tea between battles and gently trying to get her to open up about herself. It was probably only incidental to Robin that Lon’qu seemed to have been dragged into the fray.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, of course. I know you’re a private person,” Olivia continues, and eventually the color in her cheeks begins to wane back to their usual degree of rosiness. “But it was clear you were upset. Everyone thought it was weird that you just left for Regna Ferox without even saying goodbye, right after Robin…”

“Disappeared.” Lon’qu finishes for her, and is vexed when Olivia frowns at him.

“I know the word, Lon’qu. I was just trying to be sensitive.”

“Ah.” Now it’s his turn to feel warm under his collar. A crack in the floor suddenly captivates his attention. “I see now why you might think that’s appropriate.”  

“Right, well.” Olivia has her fingers wound tightly together, bound against her chest like she’s all tied up from excitement. “I would wish you a safe trip, but I have no doubt that you can handle yourself on the road.”

“Thank you.”

Roving bandits and Risen are absolutely the least of his worries.

 

* * *

 

 

Castle Ylisse is exactly the same as Lon’qu left it- that is, to say, enormous and aesthetically overwhelming. The last time he was here was when the presence of all the Shepherds was requested for the royal wedding, and if you were to say there was another wedding being held on this exact day then Lon’qu could not have told you otherwise with any degree of confidence.

The overall image is of stark white walls, decorated with details of shimmering gold and drapery of dark red and royal blues. It’s a long shot from the sturdy, gray walls of a wintery Regna Ferox, and though Lon’qu believes the royal family to be a collection of earnest (yet odd) people, this decorum seems awfully artificial to him. Like a mirage- something beautiful at a distance, not meant to be observed too closely.

But Lon’qu’s no prince. And he sure as hell isn’t an interior decorator, so what does he know about any of this?

The lack of any royal-ness about Lon’qu’s person is reinforced, when he has hardly set foot within the castle interior and finds himself staring impassively down the spearhead of a Ylissean royal guard.

“Halt. What business do you have with the Royal Family today?”

“None.” Lon’qu answers honestly.

This does not appear to be the correct answer.

Before the guard has even spoken, Lon’qu has already devised at least several ways to slice through him like water. However, it would be troublesome to have to explain a dead Ylissean to Chrom.

Already feeling like this interaction has dragged on just long enough, Lon’qu rifles through his coat pocket before finding the letter that had been addressed to him from Lissa. He flashes the parchment in front of the guard’s face, with the Princess’s signature and the royal emblem and everything.

“I’m an ally of Ylisse. I was asked to be here.” Lon’qu growls, pulling the parchment away before the guard can read any more of it than what is necessary to get Lon’qu through the door. Specifically, the details about Robin being found by the Shepherds after dropping off the map for months, and how he had been asking where Lon’qu was. “Now leave me be.”

He leaves the guard flustered and dumbstruck, and Lon’qu wonders if he’s letting his emotions go to his head. Well, any more so than one would expect, what with him having traveled halfway across a continent for a letter. It might look very transparent, if news gets out that Lon’qu barged into the Ylisse castle and practically walked all over security just to see Robin for the first time in almost half a year. If there was one thing that attracted a Ylissean like flies to honey, it was some good, old-fashioned dramatics.

But he doesn’t care, or so Lon’qu tells himself. Because his patience is more than thin, and his feet remember the way he wants to go, up two flights of stairs and down the left corridor. And he’s standing in front of a door he had stood before so many times after Plegia fell. A castle room. A war camp tent. It makes no difference to him.

And when the door opens, there’s a loud fluttering in his ears. He sees a flash of snowy white hair, and his body feels at once both hot and cold. He’s afraid, for a moment, that what he’s seeing isn’t real. Because Robin is sitting in his room, perched in his chair at his desk and pawing through the pages of a dusty old book, looking as if he has never left at all. Like the past handful of months and the battle against Grima had been a dream.

Robin looks up instantly, and the sunlight from the open window flashes in his brown eyes like copper coins. He is wearing his coat and looking slightly disheveled, and it truly as if nothing has changed.

“Lon’qu,” A wide, toothy grin spreads across Robin’s face. Lon’qu can feel his own heartbeat echoing painfully in his throat. “You’re back!”

 

* * *

 

 

Robin has an affinity for high places. Lon’qu thinks he likes to be where he can see everything going on, keeping an eye on people from far away. So in the mornings and evenings, when Robin can slip away from the rest of the Shepherds and focus his attention on Lon’qu, they sit up on the balcony. From there, they can see the whole courtyard and no one else can see them.

It’s also here where Robin is most likely to hold Lon’qu’s hand, kicking his feet out over the open air and squeezing the warrior’s palm with surprisingly tight grip. Robin is a lot more… touchy, these days.

“Well, I did die. Kind of,” Robin uses as an explanation, though it’s more and more frequently turning into a catch-all excuse. His eyebrows lift under his bangs, leaning towards Lon’qu with a thin-lipped smirk. “I’m only trying to make sure I appreciate everything important to me while I have it.”

Lon’qu, for his part, is unamused. “That doesn’t sound like something you should joke about.”

“I’m not joking about all of it.” Robin squeezes Lon’qu’s hand again. The tactician’s skin is cool to the touch, and he often smells like something recently burning from his practicing magic, or like ancient dust from his studies. “I did miss you. I’m glad you came to see me.

Their feet appear to be hovering above the world. Two pairs of black boots, floating away from the green, groomed courtyard where Frederick attempts to turn bumbling trainees into skilled knights. No, Ylisse isn’t all bad, Lon’qu decides. It was a nice change of pace to see so much green.

 “I’m going to take it that, because who haven’t mentioned it, you don’t think anything important happened to you when you disappeared?” Lon’qu suggests. He’s unable to control his voice and make himself sound like he isn’t worried.

Robin shakes his head, disappointment tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ugh. No, of course not. I woke up in a big, empty field with no memory of how I got there. The last thing I remembered was killing Grima, and then nothing. I guess I should be used to amnesia by now.”

“At least you remembered what country you were in this time. And your name.”

“Yes, what a relief.” Robin huffs dryly. He sounds almost… frustrated with himself, but Lon’qu can’t imagine why that would be. He’s considered a hero now, after all. During the war, a collection of at least six well-meaning friends had to be hovering around Robin during down-time to remind him not to overwork. Lon’qu can definitely see how Robin could exhaust himself into a sickbed, trying to take responsibility for everything.

Far below them, Sully and Vaike cheer when one of Frederick’s trainees falls off of his horse. Apparently the Royal Knighthood has it’s work cut out for them.

Robin snorts softly, less so at the display of misfortune and more at his friends’ reactions, and without looking away he asks, “What about you? What did you do after the war?”

Something in Lon’qu’s stomach churns. He thinks it might be guilt. “I went back to Regna Ferox. My services in Ylisse were no longer required.”

“Oh?”

“I thought about searching for you.” Lon’qu admits, and the weight on his stomach lifts as he says it. “Some thought you had died, and others tried to comb the countryside. I didn’t search for you, I was sure you would only be found when you were ready.”

He sees Robin exhale, chest subtly rising and falling underneath his linen shirt. “Wow. You must have an awful lot of faith in me.”

“Don’t tease me,” Lon’qu’s mouth twists in a scowl. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“I know, I know!” Robin shakes his head and laughs. His shoulder presses up against Lon’qu’s, and Lon’qu notices he’s a good deal taller and broader than Robin is. Not exactly surprising, only that he never thought of Robin as weak or fragile. “I know you are. You’re very sweet.”

In the courtyard, Vaike appears to be trying to climb onto the fallen trainee’s horse. This goes just about as well as Lon’qu could expect it to go, and Sully’s booming guffaws echo all the way up to the balcony while Frederick tries to shield his trainees from their residential bad influences.

“Besides, you ended up being right.” Robin says. “You didn’t have to look for me after all.”

 

* * *

 

“It is. So cold.”

“I don’t know what you expected when we started coming up north.”

“I can’t feel my toes. Remember when we went to Chon’sin and we climbed a volcano? That sounds pretty great right about now.”

“Actually, this weather is mild for the season. Perhaps you’re just feeling delicate after sitting in the castle and eating royal pastries for so long.”

“Now who’s teasing? And when did you get a sense of humor?” Robin blows onto his gloved hands, shooting Lon’qu a venomous look from underneath his hood. Snowflakes are piling up on his shoulders and dappling his eyelashes like stardust. Lon’qu has to stay close to him to make sure he doesn’t get lost in the flurry of snow.

It’s officially spring in Regna Ferox, which is a statement that contradicts itself. While the flowers are now blooming in milder parts of the world, this side of the nation is still cold to its core. On their way to the Capital they pass a river that has long-since been frozen solid, and have collected a number of children slipping across its icy surface and gleefully pelting each other with the season’s last good snowballs.

“They shouldn’t be doing that.” Lon’qu remarks as they cross over a stone bridge, voice rich with disapproval. “Just because the river looks frozen doesn’t mean it’s solid.”

“You sound like a fretful father.” Robin comments in a light tone that Lon’qu can only assume he had picked up from Lissa, all gentle ribbing and teasing.

 

It comes as no surprise to Lon’qu that Robin is embraced when they reach the Khan’s fortress. Perhaps too much so, even, when Khan Flavia strides up and gives Robin a forceful slap on the back that could surely obliterate lesser men.

“About time you showed up here, Robin!” She smiles at him with more earnesty than Lon’qu has ever seen on the Eastern Khan. For normally such a serious woman, she dazzles when pleased. “This mean you’re finally gonna give Chrom the boot and become my tactician, right?”

Robin, to his credit, covers his wheezing with polite fit of nervous laughter. “Sorry, Khan Flavia. I’m not here for work. But I’m taking a bit of a break from Ylisse for a while, so I might have to take you up on that job offer after all.”

“Leave him be, Flavia!” Basilio marches forward and gives his rival a disapproving, one-eyed glare. “The boy just got here, and you’re already trying to steal him away from Chrom. I’ve seen wolves stalk rabbits less viciously than you.”

Robin seems to shrink between the two bickering Khans, eyes flashing frantically to Lon’qu for help. It is at that moment Lon’qu realizes the edge of his lip is curling in a smirk. Any occasion where Robin is the one being flustered for a change shouldn’t be taken for granted.

“Regardless of how long you’re staying, it’s good to have you with us.” Flavia insists.

“Lon’qu must have really sold Regna Ferox on you.” Basilio’s eye switches between Robin and Lon’qu, and there’s a glimmer of knowing that Lon’qu isn’t entirely sure he feels comfortable with. Apparently, what he said before about being able to read Basilio doesn’t apply when it comes to mysterious amnesiac tacticians. “Speaking of which, Robin, you and I have important matters to discuss later.”

“We do?” Robin looks absolutely white as his hair, standing in the shadow of the Western Khan.

“We do.” Basilio says, and cutting seriousness drips from his voice. Like a flip of a switch, however, his face changes into an arrogant smile. “But that can wait until the evening! Enjoy yourself for now. Since you’re clearly sick to death of Ylisse, it’s about time you got your fill of our neck of the woods.”

Robin still looks frozen to the spot as the two Khan’s leave him be, perhaps sensing that they’re frightened the poor fool beyond repair. He doesn’t budge until Lon’qu tugs on his elbow and uproots him. “Come on, Robin.”

“What did I _do?_ ” Robin practically whines, and Lon’qu can only shake his head. Whatever Basilio wants, he’s sure it will make an interesting story for later.

 

* * *

 

Their encounter with Olivia includes all the expected ear-shattering levels of yelling and energy, the dancer running up and standing on her toes while Robin (keeping a respectful amount of distance) grabs her hands.

“Olivia, you look amazing.” Robin beams. “Also, I’m currently dying of hypothermia!”

“He’s being dramatic.” Lon’qu promises when he sees the expression on Olivia’s face turn from joy to horror.

“Says the man who wouldn’t stand in the same room as Lissa for a week when he met her.”

“We’re friends now…” Lon’qu’s voice falls to an unheard mutter as he watches the two others chatter. He’s hardly seen Olivia look so animated when she isn’t dancing. As he already knew, Robin becomes someone different for every person. Even people like fatally nervous dancers and reserved, shy swordsmen.

  
It becomes evident, eventually, how exhausting the journey between two nation’s capitals really have been. And once they bid Olivia goodbye for the evening, Lon’qu has the heavy duty of introducing Robin to his room.

“My, it’s…” Robin’s eyes scan over barren walls, and an overall lack of comfortable furniture. Lon’qu doesn’t need many things, mostly just his weapons, clothes, a bed and a metal water basin for washing up. “Very roomy in here.”

“You don’t like it.” Lon’qu places his bag in the corner next to the bed, then takes Robin’s things to put next to it.

“I didn’t say that!” Robin pads his way around the room, taking special interest in personal artifacts. The chest full of Lon’qu’s clothing. The bar of soap and folded towel on the dresser. “I think it’s nice that you focus on the necessities. Though I don’t think that, say, a rug or a table or something could hurt.”

Lon’qu raises an eyebrow. Ah yes, now he recalls- Robin’s room in Ylisse castle wasn’t very extravagant either, at least not compared to his friends of nobility. Though he did have a little sitting area, a place where he could recline and read in the sunlight or have Lon’qu over for lunch. They only place they could really be alone was in that room, since apparently sound travels too well in tents.

That was a difficult lesson for everyone to learn.

“I could have a table.” Lon’qu offers, a little churlishly. Surely, there’s a carpenter or two in Regna Ferox. “Some chairs…”

Robin drops down on Lon’qu’s bed, which complains loudly as the springs are jostled. “That’d be nice. I like your quilts, too. Very warm."

“My bed isn’t made for two people.” Lon’qu watches Robin roll onto his back, folding his hands over his chest and staring up at the ceiling contemplatively.

The warrior can’t remember the last time he had someone else in his room, let alone one who planned on staying the night. Robin isn’t the tallest man Lon’qu’s met, but the room suddenly seems much smaller when he’s in it. Or maybe it’s just the bed. “I don’t mind.”

There’s quiet between them. There often is, but it’s not uncomfortable. Naturally, Robin is usually the one who pushes Lon’qu into conversing, but even aggressively social tacticians need a break from time to time. Lon’qu makes himself busy by putting his few belongings back in their places, and pretending he isn’t watching the way Robin’s brow furrows like he’s going through some difficult calculations.

Finally, Robin pipes up with, “I should probably go see what Basilio wants. You’ve know him for a long time, right? I’d appreciate some advice on how to talk to him.”

“Try not to embarrass me as my guest.” Lon’qu answers plainly as he unsheathes a sword, carefully inspecting the blade before putting it aside.

“Sure.” Robin twiddles his thumbs. He hasn’t taken his gloves off yet, nor his coat or boots. Probably in anticipation for going to meet with the Khan. Or he’s just cold. “I guess I shouldn’t worry. He’s a good man. Flavia is very kind, as well.”

Robin’s eyes flash in lantern light, alert and lively. He never looks tired, even on nights he spends pouring over books or tossing and turning next to Lon’qu, trying to grasp consciousness and pull himself out of confusing nightmares. Sometimes he wakes up in Lon’qu’s arms, shivering and looking very small in the big, dark world. Sometimes Lon’qu wakes up in his. They never talk about it afterwards.

His palm flexes as he fidgets anxiously, Robin’s knuckles sticking out against the leather of his glove. Underneath that glove is the hand that used to bare that strange mark. Six purple eyes, like a death mask, wiped clean off of his skin. Lon’qu isn’t a religious man, but it’s hard to come face-to-face with godhood and not feel like you’ve walked away a changed person.

“I thought it was odd when Basilio sent you away to join the Shepherds. Giving away his best fighter, after, all- it was almost like he didn’t appreciate you.” Robin says thoughtfully, and Lon’qu restrains a biting protest. It was hardly like Chrom considered his feelings about the matter any more than Basilio did.

Fortunately, Robin continues, “But I think that, looking back on it, it was really more like he was proud of you. Like he wanted to show you off and have you represent Regna Ferox on our adventure.”

“Hm.” Lon’qu doesn’t know how he feels about that. Is it vain, he wonders, to hope that it’s true? It’s no accident that he and Olivia were chosen by Basilio to join the Shepherds, and that they both happen to be the best in their fields.

“So I guess it’s a good thing that you lost your title of champion to Lucina, then. Otherwise we probably wouldn’t have met.” Robin beams at him, which Lon’qu would find much more sweet if he hadn’t also taken the time to jab that whole Lucina-shaped knife in his back.

Lon’qu folds his arms over his chest. “You are stalling.” Only because he doesn’t want Basilio to become impatient, and absolutely not because he’s annoyed by the reminder of his loss. Not that it matters. He’s still the champion.

“So I am.” Robin swings his feet over the side of the bed, stretching his arms up high and beginning an obedient march towards the door. “If I’m not back in two hours, you may avenge my death.”

“Generous.”

 

* * *

 

Lon’qu finds ways to entertain himself in Robin’s absence. Some brief resistance training. A few minutes of menial, relaxing work in the kitchens. Once he tried to read one of Robin’s books, ending in an impromptu nap and even less knowledge about lighting magic than when Lon’qu started.

He does, however, wake up in time to hear Robin’s footsteps coming down the hallway. It will be curious to see if over the coming months Robin memorizes the route to Lon’qu’s room as well as Lon’qu remembers his.

The champion waits, sitting on the bed with his back to the wall stiffy, and entire convinced that Robin will want to explain everything in excruciating as soon as he sets foot inside. He’s not wrong.

“So, _apparently…_ ” The door swings open and Robin swoops in, long coat all aflutter. And Lon’qu has a feeling this is going to take a minute, because Robin only saves his dramatic entrances like that for special occasions. Like a big tiff with Chrom, or the bookkeeper ordering him the wrong kind of cover on his new book.

“Apparently…” Lon’qu echoes, and his eyes flutter shut incase he needs another quick nap while this goes on.

Robin doesn’t seem to mind. Or notice. “Apparently, I just had a very good, illuminating talk with Khan Basilio, in which he let me know his expectations. Since, according to him, courting one of his finest fighters isn’t just ‘a walk down a damn daisy-strewn road for a mere ordinary craven’, but he was sure that, knowing me, I could figure it out.”

“I-” So much for closing his eyes for a nap. So much for having eyes, what with the way they’re popping out of Lon’qu’s skull and all. “What?”

“I know! What does he think is wrong with me?” Robin gestures to himself urgently, wide eyes looking at Lon’qu searchingly. “I thought I had been doing a good job of courting you! What does he think I’m missing? It’s not like you’re the easiest person in the world to court. You’re a wonderful man, okay, but one time we went to a pub and you got us kicked out because Gregor was there and you kept challenging him to a duel.”

“I can’t believe this.” Heat immediately rockets up Lon’qu’s neck, he feels he could melt right into a puddle on the floor. Khan Basilio knows that Lon’qu is… romantically involved. Khan Basilio knows Lon’qu has a _social life._

“I mean, you would tell me if you wanted more out of our relationship, right? I’m amenable to that.” Robin makes a fist on one hand and smacks his opposite palm with it, eyes locking Lon’qu’s in a fiery, determined gaze. “Well, either way, there’s one way to fix this. Lon’qu, tomorrow you talk to Basilio-”

“No.” Lon’qu may have lost the ability to ever speak to Basilio ever again entirely.

“-And let him know that I am a very thoughtful, _attentive_ lover,” Robin emphasizes, looking dangerously fixated. Once something has Robin’s attention, after all, trying to pry it away from him is impossible. This is his greatest strength when it comes to pursuing antisocial swordmasters. “Who promises to do my best to be receptive to your needs- what are you doing?”

Lon’qu shoves his clothes and traveling gear back into his rucksack. It was a nice visit while it lasted. “Back to Ylisse it is.”

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t escape Lon’qu that Robin is different now, in subtle and small ways. No matter how much he tries to act like everything is the same. Double-taking when walking in front of a reflective surface, Robin’s lip curls at his own reflection as if it’s going to reach out and strangle him. If there’s one thing Lon’qu can understand, it’s being haunted by your own past. It’s being followed by the failures you would do anything to leave behind.

In the dead of night Robin likes to put his head on Lon’qu’s chest, wrapped under the comfort of blankets and with his ear pressed against Lon’qu’s skin, listening for the uniform drumbeat of Lon’qu’s heart with his brows slightly furrowed and his hand clutching Lon’qu’s side. As if he’s afraid that Lon’qu will disappear in the middle of the night. Or maybe that Robin will.

And Lon’qu indulges him, even though it’s odd to be someone else’s human connection. He hardly feels human sometimes himself. More like a weapon, waiting in the armory for the next battle to dust himself off. An object that hardly has thoughts or feelings.  
  


“Do you ever think about it?” Robin asks him, and Lon’qu can hear his voice vibrate all the way up his own body. In the dark, the top of Robin’s head looks like iron instead of silver. “The fact that I killed you in another life?”

“I don’t care what an alternate version of you did to an alternate version of me in a future that doesn’t exist anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

It’s true, there are scary things about Robin, aside from his heritage. Things that, if Lon’qu had to guess, he’d say that not many people really thought about, being blinded by Robin’s patience and compassion.

Robin’s cunning. His ambition. The tender line he has to walk between seeing his allies as his friends and seeing them as chess pieces. Lon’qu has been alone with Robin in the war tent long enough to see him mentally evaluate each person in their camp, assigning them in his eye based on their role. A bishop. A king. A pawn. It’s a lot of responsibility to choose who will live and who will die on the field. Perhaps it’s not so shocking that in another timeline he was the one who brought all of their forces to ruin.

A soft breath falls out of Robin’s lip, and his chest rises and falls deeply against Lon’qu. He can’t remember the last time Lon’qu felt human contact before Robin came along, now here he is as physically close to another human being as possible.

“I wish I deserved you.” Robin says into Lon’qu’s chest. When he squeezes Lon’qu’s hip, he can feel the half-moon imprint of shallow nails against him.

“Don’t worry about that.” Because of course Robin deserves him. Deserves far better than him. He saved everyone, and the only thing Lon’qu can offer in return is his presence and a rickety twin bed. “None of us would be here if you weren’t for you. You’d be a fool to forget that.”

“Hmm. You’re very kind.” Robin says, making him the only person who has ever said that about Lon’qu. Then again, he’s usually the only person who’s opinion matters.

“See that you stay close to me.” Lon’qu holds his the back of his hand up to his face to cover a yawn. “And remember that I told you so when you finally believe what I say, and get an ounce of sense in your thick head.”

“Okay.” And Lon’qu can feel the corner of Robin’s smile brushing against him like a secret code, or a silent promise.


End file.
